


Selling Flowers

by marchionessofblackadder



Series: A Crown of Roses [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The groom takes the veil off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selling Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> A special thanks to Repeatinglitanies for prompting this!

By the time she stepped through the door of her bedroom, Belle realized how cold and damp she was from the meadow. She let the door fall shut behind her with a quiet click before hurrying to the small chaise bench at the end of her bed, taking comfort in the familiar crystal blue silk of the cushions and bedspread, the small flushed red and pink roses dotting the designs and the cool cream and warm gold filigree of the walls and fireplace. She sat heavily, her wedding gown billowing in waves of sparkling organza. She lifted her skirts to her knees, blinking down at the thin silk stockings casing her legs. They were so very fine she had hardly felt them, all the way down to the pretty silver shoes that fastened about her ankles, giving her a slight inch more upon the world.

Carefully, she unfastened them, her fingers clumsy from cold even though her mind was heated and tripping over itself from the tumble of magic that had conjured them back within the castle. There was a rumor of story that somewhere in the land, a young maiden had been proven a princess because she’d fit into a glass slipper that a prince had slipped upon her foot. Watching her shoes fall onto the thick carpet beneath her, Belle tried to imagine Rumpelstiltskin on bended knee, slipping off her shoes for her and cradling her feet and tender ankles in his hands. The very act itself seemed a contradiction to his person-someone powerful, prideful, and cruel, but it seemed so sincere in her mind that she could not displace the idle fantasy. Instead, she gathered her shoes and tucked them beneath the chaise and sighed.

Her head was growing weary where the golden laurel of roses rested in her curls, the soft silk of the veil fluttering against her shoulders and arms. The idea that such a seemingly harmless object could be hurting her, draining her of life, was absurd, but the urgency with which Rumpelstiltskin had spoken, as if he’d already watched her die beneath it, haunted her from the meadow of heather. The concept of death didn’t frighten Belle, and perhaps that was because she had always remained utterly distant from it. As a girl and a youthful woman, she’d been protected, had guards and maids and those who watched her with an ever careful eye. It was ignorance of the idea, she knew, that created such fearlessness, but even now, she couldn’t muster anything more than an airy regard for it.

Perhaps it was because she knew Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t let it come to that. And he wouldn’t. For all he’d been wretched and miserable and tortured at the thought of what had happened to her, he had not refused her. He had even married her-the Dark One himself-to save her from a cruel trick of fate. He had been the one to suggest marrying her to someone else, a prince-so it was not of greed or lust that he had taken her to vows. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, if he would have accepted knowing that he would have to take her to bed, too 

There was no fear there, Belle realized, staring at the small fire in her hearth. She did not fear him, nor his bed, nor the unknowable of being a wife. It had always been in her future, but to be able to choose who she would spend those possibilities with, in all honesty, made her anticipation burn for them. With Gaston, as handsome as he had been, that call in her heart had remained tempered by more pressing matters-her father, the ogres, the war, her people. Gaston, for his part, had not urged her further toward marriage any more than Belle had him. She was sure she could have felt a physical desire for him, perhaps, over time, but she knew she’d have to lose or compromise a part of herself for it.

Didn’t everyone do that, to find and feel love, though?

Standing and crossing the room, Belle held a hand to her hair to relieve some of the weight from her crown and breathed deeply. Her mind was addled in her thoughts, fluttery and flighty like a moth, and sitting was making her grow anxious. Rumpelstiltskin had seen to the visitor knocking on their door-their door-and had asked her to wait for him while he dealt with the matter. She would have asked to stay, but her head ached on, and she wanted to divest herself of her wedding costume, nonetheless. The only problem, Belle found, was that there were no laces for her fingers to find, and the bodice had been constructed to house the skirt underneath. Swallowing dryly, Belle wondered if Rumpelstiltskin had done that on purpose.

But he hadn’t known then, that he would be present on her wedding night. No, he had done it just as he’d conjured her blue dress-because it had made a pretty picture in his mind, and he had hoped she would like it. And she did, Belle smiled at the realization, turning her body to face the long gold mirror across the room. She looked higher than a lady of her station in such finery, and picking up the veil to drape over her arm, she gave a playful twirl, watching the organza whirl above her ankles.

A quiet knock upon her door drew her to a halt, and Belle hesitated, looking around her room for something to be doing, then pausing to wonder why she needed a reason to be busy. Frowning at herself, she shook her head and said, “Come in.”

Rumpelstiltskin opened her door like a cautious hero toeing his way into a dragon’s den. Head half bowed, his eyes seemed almost too big for his face, looking like a shy boy, and Belle gave him a small, encouraging smile. He let the door shut behind him, and she saw that as he walked in with his hands behind his back, he hadn’t changed clothes, even the scaly mantel of dragonhide still remained, the spiky fleece scarf he wore still resting over his neck like some prickly, poisonous flower.

“Who was it?” Belle asked, and Rumpelstiltskin stopped suddenly, his boot wavering in the air before looking up at her with wide, estranged eyes. “At the door?”

“Oh,” he rested his foot down, hesitating as if he meant to turn back. “Just an old woman selling flowers.”

The skepticism must have bled through her face, because she didn’t even need to put her doubt into words. He smirked rather darkly before withdrawing his hand from behind his back to present her with a beautiful long-stemmed rose. The petals were velvety and crimson red, and the gentle fragrance met her nose like a kiss. “For my bride,” he said gallantly, the playful tone of his voice making her smile. “If you’ll have it.”

And of course she did, taking the stem carefully only to find there were no thorns. She pressed the bloom to her lips to hide her surprise, blushing. “Thank you,” she whispered, unable to will more strength in her voice.

Rumpelstiltskin stepped so close to her that the tips of his boots disappeared beneath the hem of her skirts, and he touched one hand to her hair, the other over her shoulder, a gentle frown on his face. “It hurts you.”

“Just heavy,” Belle assured him, looking from her rose up to his face. It wasn’t a lie. “But I would… I would like to be rid of it.”

“Yes,” Rumpelstiltskin croaked, his voice gone hoarse and soft all at once, and she swore the color in his cheeks deepened to a darker greyish gold. She bit her lip behind the soft petals of her flower, and he cleared his throat, dropping his hands from her veil and arm. “Should I… turn?”

“No, I need your help with my dress,” Belle said, sounding more comfortable between the two of them. It was best to keep a level head when she could, she supposed, and it would help her nerves to take this one step at a time. Instead of a seduction, this was pragmatism. She needed assistance, just as she would need a maid to help her in her father’s castle. There was no need to blush or shy away from this. “I can’t reach the laces.”

“Ah.” His voice had gone reedy with his anxiety, and Belle viciously stamped down her laughter and smiles, afraid that teasing him in such a state would go poorly. “Right, I should have thought… better.”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you for it,” Belle said quietly, her hand straying to cover his own, which were knotted in front of him. He went completely still at her touch, and before he could collapse from lack of air-for she was sure he was holding his breath now-she turned carefully, and drew her veil and with it, her hair, over her neck and shoulder to bare her back to him. The sleeves of the gown were sheer, just hugging to cap over her shoulders and disappear down to her wrists, but the neckline dipped low, reaching lower on her back, almost to the middle where it met the bodice. Belle had not been able to find any lacings, but the moment Rumpelstiltskin touched her, he seemed to find them without trouble.

Gentleness was in their favor, and soon the bodice was expanding, her gown hanging off of her small frame now only from the sleeves. She still clutched the flower in front of her though, feeling warm and sleepy with the fire at her front and Rumpelstiltskin at her back, idly tracing along the creamy shift and delicate corset beneath. He was doing no more than touch with his nails, feather light and relaxing, and Belle let out a soft sound, louder than a sigh-more a purr.

“Do you-?”

Before he could finish his question, Belle reached up and set the rose atop the mantle of her fireplace, and she felt Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes follow it, just as her own did. It was the most interesting thing in the room while she slid the sheer sleeves of her gown down her arms, the organza wisping with soft ruffles as it fell down her body in heavy staggers, catching over her bust, then her hip, before puddling around her feet in a snowy heap.

Neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity, with Belle staring down at her crumpled wedding gown and feeling defenseless. For a moment, the aching in her poor head was only a distant inconvenience, her veil gathered over her shoulder. The fire was warm, but when Rumpelstiltskin’s usually steady but now shaking hands came to rest upon her shoulders, his breath just dusting her neck, Belle breathed in and closed her eyes, his long spinner’s fingers soft, his dry palms putting the slightest pressure to lead her to step back, out of the dress, and lean against his chest.

“Are you afraid, my lady?” he asked quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder near her neck. Belle focused on breathing, slow and deep and steady, not thinking about putting her own head back against his shoulder or how soft his oiled curls felt against her cheek. She wasn’t thinking about his hand ghosting down her arm nearest the fire, the pads of his fingers sweeping the tender flesh inside her arm to her wrist and moving that to rest over her belly. His other hand did the same, except entwined their fingers, and Belle bit her lip and shook her head.

It was an insufficient answer, because though she might not be afraid, she was feeling _something_. Or perhaps many things-mostly heat, and a heaviness she couldn’t name settling in the pit of her stomach and anchoring her limbs as she entrusted more of her weight into his embrace. The spiky scarf was softer than she expected beneath her neck, and made for a strange if comfortable cushion for her weary head, and his arms, stiff from his leather coat, were strong and would not let her fall. In all his oddity, Belle found herself feeling more comfortable, more safe than she ever had.

“G-Good,” Rumpelstiltskin rumbled against her shoulder, dragging his chin along her shoulder to press a kiss to her neck. A breathy whimper broke through her lips, one she didn’t realize she was holding in, because the kiss was ragged and firm and made her knees turn to water. His arms tightened around her waist, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer when he pressed another kiss just below her ear, and her entire face flushed with heat as he mumbled, “Good thing.”

“There’s more,” Belle managed to say, pushing her voice past it’s sleepiness, the words tumbling from her lips as she lead his hands up from her waist to the top of her bust. Rumpelstiltskin tensed behind her until she led his fingers to the laces of the corset, fitted to the front for her to wear practically. He seemed to relax, only slightly, and perhaps he thought it was just another task to be completed like her asking for help with her dress. There was no need to be nervous, no need to be shy-his fingers knew fiber, knew cotton and wool and silk and leather, and the stays of her corset held no difficulty for his clever hands. When he disentangled it from between them, tossing the garment upon the nearest chair next to the fireplace, Belle knew they were coming closer. Her shift, her stockings, the drawers she wore were delicate and thin, and against the light, she knew she was more vulnerable now than she ever had been. Her modesty curled her shoulders and made her arms shake to cover herself, but instead she sought out his hands once more in her own, threading their fingers together. The surprising weight of Rumpelstiltskin pressing his forehead to the back of her shoulder was what decided her to hold her head a little higher. Between the two of them, who would ever guess that the virgin bride would be stronger? The idea that she had began her adventure as a housekeeper was like a dream, and seemed absurd under the circumstances. _I need a caretaker._

“You were going to let me go,” Belle said, the words fluttery and limpid against the moment but unable to forget his confession from the meadow. He squeezed her hands tightly, and she closed her eyes as he drew his hands over her waist again, only this time moving to her, his leather feeling cold against her back where her layers had kept her warm. He felt her shiver, and she did not imagine the rise in the fire in front of them. “Would you still have married me, if you knew...it took more than vows?”

His thumbs were drawing circles inside her wrists, a nice distraction from own near nakedness and his closeness, and he shifted again, this time pressing a kiss to her cheek, near her ear. His voice was weak. “Yes. If you had asked me to.”

“But not because you would want to,” Belle said softly, extricating herself from his embrace to turn and face him. His quick intake of breath and his wide, fearful eyes were the only thing she could hear and see. “Even though you said you did want me.”

“I don’t allow myself to want what is impossible. Such is folly,” Rumpelstiltskin breathed, blinking his wide, glassy eyes at her as if the truth hurt. Perhaps it did, but she knew she could ask anything of him, in that moment, and he would not scorn her. He turned his face down to his boots. “Wanting what I do not deserve is hard enough, Belle.”

“I want you,” she whispered, more suddenly than she had meant to. When he looked up at her again, it hurt her heart in a deep and aching way that overshadowed the pain upon her brow. A fearful anguish was raging in his eyes, and she didn’t know where the sting of salt came from in her own, but it was there, and no matter how hard she blinked, the tears wouldn’t be chased away, except down her own cheeks. “And not-not just to free myself of this stupid, _stupid_ curse. Even if you don’t desire or love me, I care for you. I can love you-” her breath shuddered over her own words, fighting to keep control over her voice. “-I _choose_ to love you.”

“Belle,” he choked on her name, and when she stepped close, just wanting the gentle sweetness of a kiss-a real, true kiss, he ducked his head and met her with a desperate, hot insistence that stole her breath and rendered her only to cling to his shoulders and his hair. His lips were warm on hers, smothering and enveloping. It was the happiest Belle could remember feeling, his hands clawing at the back of her shift and her own clumsy fingers pushing at his scarf, then at his leather coat. They stumbled and knocked into both her chest and a chair, overturning one and stubbing his toe on the other, backing towards the bed with haste. Belle was loosening the buttons on his waistcoat when the back of her knees hit the bed, his mouth sweeping the column of her throat with greedy, wet kisses.

Her storybooks only talked about demure kisses on a lady’s hand, and only at the end before marriage did it speak of lips, always chaste and decorous. These kisses were anything but-clumsy, messy, and _theirs_. Belle let out a ragged breath once she loosened his waistcoat to hang from his shoulders, and she gasped when he lifted her by her waist and set her on the bed without preamble. It was natural to part her knees when he stepped close between them, and even though her shyness was trying once more to climb its way back up to the surface, she pushed it down and tilted her head up, her own rough breathing matching his.

His hand cupped the side of her throat and he met her for another kiss, but this time it was slower, and his tongue swept along the hesitant part of her mouth until she opened up. He tasted like a cold autumn morning, dead leaves and crisp mountain air, a spicy flavor that also reminded her of the firewhiskey he preferred to add to his tea in the evening, and something smoky like tobacco. Belle let her hand creep up his chest where his gold silk shirt was fastened with a spinning wheel brooch, and she unfastened it with deft fingers now that they were warm.

When she held it in the palm of her hand, Rumpelstiltskin broke their kiss to glance down first at his shirt that had come unbuttoned from her handling of it, then at the precious gold finery that she’d divested him.

“It’s heavy,” she murmured, letting the weight settle in her palm before she laid it on the bed, looking back up at him questioningly. He’d gone quiet and incredibly still, staring at the bit of gold, and Belle didn’t like his sudden distance. He hadn’t stepped away, but something in his eyes let her know he was not with her anymore. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek and raised up enough to press her lips to his, this time as the one to taste him. His hands were resting on top of her thighs, just above her knees, and squeezed lightly as she kissed him more. He was not kissing her back, but he leaned closer, and Belle cupped the back of his head where his hair was curliest, threading her fingers through and drawing him close until they were pressed tight together.

Belle drew her knees up on either side of his waist, liking his closeness more and more, even when his hands found the thin silk ribbons holding her shift together at her neckline. He stopped, his knuckle breaching the loop of the bow, and she smiled, drawing her lips just far enough from his own to whisper, “Go on.”

“L-Lay back,” he said softly, and helped her as she obeyed, making sure her hair nor the veil would be caught underneath her. He moved them more comfortably into the bed so she was cushioned by pillows, and as she sat back, his knuckle tugged on the bow and set it free, letting silk spill over delicate white skin. For once, she was thankful for the drawn curtains and the dimness of the castle, watching his dark mottled hand gently trace over the exposed skin between her breasts and uncovering her. She remembered to breathe only just when he leaned down to kiss over her heart, and she bit her lip and nudged his hanging waistcoat off his arms, shivering at the feeling of his silk shirt tails trailing along her exposed belly where they’d come untucked from his pants. It tickled, and a giggle burst from her lips before she could squelch it.

Rumpelstiltskin went still, glancing up at her with an odd look. Belle just smiled, shaking her head, and tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, whispering, “Take this off.”

There was a long pause before he sat back on his knees and heels, unbuttoning the few left. His face was drawn tight, and Belle watched him, contentedly, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sharpness of the laurel pulling tighter at her scalp. When he shrugged the shirt off, Belle let her eyes sweep over him. He had strong shoulders and arms, and though his chest was more slender than any knight’s, he had neat proportions that she realized, with a curling warmth in her belly and between her legs, would fit perfectly against her own. Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak, so she only held her hands out to him, which he took, raising his eyes enough to meet her own where her tired smile was.

There were words in her mind enough to reassure him of his visage, but he had yet to give her compliments, and she did not want to pressure him into thinking he was doing anything wrong by not praising her beauty or looks. Of course they did in the stories and songs, but the look in his eyes was enough-wondrous and quiet and diligent to learn every part of her as they peeled away her shift and untied the small white bows on her hips that held up her drawers. Rumpelstiltskin tugged the soft cotton down her knees and off her feet, and Belle couldn’t help staring at where his own trousers rested at his middle. Her knees covered her chest, and her stockinged feet were helping shield her most private parts, but she was smiling at the tidy laces of his own pants. It seemed so ordinary.

“What is it?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, wary and concerned that something was wrong.

Belle giggled again, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip a little playfully. “I just…” she snorted at herself, grinning. “I just like what I see.”

He closed his eyes tightly, but Belle could make out the hint of a smile on his pursed lips. She laughed freely at that, but she squealed when he grabbed her ankles ungently and yanked her closer, putting her flat on her back with her knees on either side of him. Her heart was thudding wildly now, but all he did was lean close and press another kiss over her breast, this time just beneath, making her twitch and shiver as he hummed, “You are a funny girl.”

“That’s what they say,” she mumbled, smiling and nuzzling his hand where it ran along her throat to cup her cheek. She felt the warm skin of him along her knees and thighs, and where leather met flesh along his middle. It made her shudder again, especially when he shifted to fit between her knees more comfortably.

“Does it bother you?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, his fingers trailing from the outside of her knee along the top of her thigh, up, up and up. She bit her lip hard but gasped anyway when his fingers found the delicate skin where her leg and her hip met, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, let alone pay attention to what he was saying. “That people called you funny.”

“Sometimes,” she whispered, breathless from his touches that were growing more inquisitive. She squirmed when his nails tickled beneath her breasts, and she melted when his palm swept her stomach. She found his gaze beneath heavy lids, and smiled languidly. “But I suppose if I hadn’t been fun- _ah_ -funny,” she wriggled at his feather light touch along the swell of her breasts, glad he’d found enjoyment in her body and a little light headed he was still listening. That had been Gaston’s biggest fault in her eyes. He had never listened to her. “If I hadn’t been funny, I would never have ended up where I am.”

Rumpelstiltskin quirked an eyebrow. “Sold to the Dark One?” he asked nastily.

Instead of answering the barb outright, she caught his hand that was questing back towards her hair and drew it down, down, down between them where she was settled against his leather, and she let her eyes close as she led him between her thighs, biting her lip gently and mumbling, “Making my own choices.”

“Oh, Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin moaned, a soft, crying sound just above a whimper, and pressed his forehead against her own. She was no expert in pleasuring herself, her own modesty and strict teachings having given her a rather cold approach to _that_ kind of feeling. In truth, she’d been intimidated by her own bodily wants, and so she’d never knew the road to seeking them out. _This_ feeling, though, leading someone else to explore with her was curling her toes against the back of Rumpelstiltskin’s boots, and he gasped as she pressed his fingers harder against her. Did he think he would hurt her? The sensation of his warm, dry hands there where she was growing damp from their clumsy efforts to undress and get closer made her dizzy.

He was breathing harshly, moving his fingers farther down, and Belle’s eyes opened with a gasp on her lips when he drew his fingers back up, and down again. She shivered all over and shifted her hips, instinct making her wish to close her legs and hide the wetness pooling where his hand was, but he brushed up over a place sensitive enough to have her jerk back, and it was beyond her to ask him to stop. She almost wanted to, out of a sense of shame, but then he leaned over and began kissing her chest again, fluttery kisses over her breasts, her neck, and occasionally plucking at her lips and drinking in the whimpers and cries that tumbled out whenever he drew back down with his hand.

“R-Rum-” Her teeth were chattering too much, but he heard the broken sound of his name over her twitching body. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, pupils wide and drinking in her flushed face, sweeping down her figure. He licked his lips before claiming another kiss and then pushed his teasing finger inside her. Belle cried out against his mouth, her whole body shaking, feeling as though he’d opened a cage on a million, fluttering birds inside her and let them loose, an aching, pulsing joy that made her cry out again when it crested. She couldn’t stop her hips from rocking against his hand through it all, her knees tight against his sides and her hands leaving scores against the mottled flesh of his arms.

He drew his kiss away from her mouth, which felt bruised and swollen, first to her jaw, then her throat, then up along her brow, rubbing her tenderly where he’d been teasing as she panted and lay bonelessly satiated beneath him. She felt his hand draw away, and when she was able to open her eyes, she saw him fiddling with the laces of his trousers. She wanted to help, to push her hands in the way and savor the feeling of leather and warm skin, but the crown was weighing too heavy for her to sit up now, and she sniffled, shifting her feet so they rubbed his calves. She didn’t care if he only pushed his pants down to his knees or that his boots were still on, probably dragging tracks of mud over her coverlet, because he covered her body with his and drew her close, putting her arms around his shoulders and adjusting her knees up a little higher to slide her legs more comfortably around his waist.

There was a deep ache beneath the blurry haze of pleasure he’d given her, and when she felt something new between her legs, her eyes rolled open enough to look at his face. His eyes were closed, and she fancied he was thinking very hard about what they were doing. Belle rubbed his back soothingly with one hand, playing with his hair in her other as she felt him, all of him against her where she was wet and too warm.

When he finally took her, not waiting to discuss or hesitate this time, Belle gasped against his ear and her whole body went tense against her will. Where she’d felt warm and satisfied before, she was feeling full and heavy, and her heart was pounding against her breast like a frightened doe’s. But she did not let go, she did not push him away, and she did not tell him to stop. Rumpelstiltskin went completely still at her gasp, and she felt his hands drift to her hips, his fingers  massaging her lower back where most of her tension was knotted. She was distantly aware of him kissing her shoulder and her arm, and she drew her lip between her teeth when she began to relax. She thought she never _would_ for one frightening moment-that something was wrong with her, or them, but soon her muscles were unclenching and her chest expanded, drinking in the humid air of her bedroom once, twice. Only when she could breathe without shuddering did Rumpelstiltskin move closer, and Belle twitched as he went deeper, a surprised, “Oh!” falling from her lips before she could help it.

“Does it hurt?” he panted, lifting to see her face.

The concern in his eyes tempered her own panic, and she found herself smiling, more than unsure of herself, but to see him so tender made the rest of her hesitancy fall away. “No,” she whispered, shifting her hips and earning a hiss from him. She groaned a little as he finally met her as deeply as he could, their hips fitting together, belly to belly and chest to chest with her legs draping over his own. Nothing had ever told her how comforting this would feel, being so tangled with her husband. In fact, she’d only felt embarrassed by the idea before now, but all she could feel was safe and happy. Warmth trickled down her spine like liquid-then, her ears began to ring and a rush of blood made her dizzy in the head. “Belle?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, worriedly.

Belle looked up, and Rumpelstiltskin followed her eyes before he reached a trembling hand and arm out, and lifted the golden laurel of roses and her veil away from the pillow where it had finally loosened from her hair. He drew it away, but Belle reached out to touch it, swallowing, and took it from him. Clutching it in her hand, she looked up at him-her husband- with wonder in her eyes, and pressed her knees closer around him, smiling into his shoulder at his shudder. “Keep going,” she whispered, and closed her eyes when he did.

Skin rubbing against skin made the new light-headedness she felt sparkle behind her eyes, and she gasped at the first rock of his hips. She wrapped her arm back around his shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his own throat like he had done to her before, and that earned her a harder, more surer thrust. The pleased sound she made against his throat and into his hair was enough to encourage him to do it again, and Belle grew restless enough to move too, answering his patient rocking with her own eagerness. Rumpelstiltskin pressed his face beside hers, and she could hear his panting, his gasps and groans whenever she did something he especially liked-tugging on his back with her feet, arching herself to rub her whole body against him, digging her nails into his hardened flesh beneath his shoulders. It was clumsy and uneven at first, but when Belle raised herself up enough to claim another kiss, this time using her tongue to draw him in, everything seemed to slow-their movements grew long and languid, a deeper taking and giving. When she thought she’d run out of air, she gasped against his mouth and tangled her hand in the back of his hair, her other hand still holding her veil pressed against his back.

Rumpelstiltskin grunted into her mouth and raised his arm up to grasp the headboard above her head, and what had been slow before grew frenzied and lustful, buffeting her beneath him and into the pillows until she was wriggling and clutching at him, urging him on to what had started as an ache and was growing into a swelling, frighteningly _good_ heat in her belly.

“Yes,” Belle whimpered, and Rumpelstiltskin growled unintelligibly into the air above her, his free hand not splintering the headboard tangling in her auburn curls and chasing that pleasure with her until she jerked back, tossing her head back against the pillows and screamed broken bits of his name. It was the only thing she could manage, her chest heaving and her hips pumping and her arms tugging against his shoulders to get him to where she was.

His pace was nearly brutal before he met her there, and he cried out like she’d hurt him, the most human sound he’d ever made in her presence. They didn’t stop moving, even when he practically collapsed on top of her, because Belle dropped the veil from her hand and drew his mouth to hers hungrily, and he was nuzzling her, combing his fingers through her hair and along her neck and rolled them until she was sprawled over his chest, her fallen stockings beneath her knees kissing his own boots and forgotten leathers. She was sweat soaked and her face was flushed, and when they pulled away to find their own air, Belle dropped her head to his chest just to breathe. She hadn’t thought anything could tire Rumpelstiltskin, but he was just as spent as she, his hands lazily drawing up her sweaty back and rubbing her arm.

Her eyes slipped closed, and Belle didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she was waking up. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, because Rumpelstiltskin was dressed-his shirt replaced and buttoned, his trousers done up modestly once more, and he was folding the cursed veil near the edge of the bed. Belle watched him for a moment, and he leaned down and gathered the golden spinning wheel brooch and wrapped it in the silk as well, before making it disappear.

“Where did it go?” Belle asked softly, her voice hoarse and full of her exhaustion.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced at her from around his hair before standing up again and coming to her side. He persuaded her under the covers with gentle hands and tucked the sheets around her, murmuring, “Where no one else will be able to find it.”

“You’re not staying?” Belle mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and no small amount of happiness. But when she managed to look up at Rumpelstiltskin, he did not appear happy. Relaxed perhaps, but pensive and troubled. He touched his hand to her forehead tenderly, then kissed her hair, just where the roses had been.

“Goodnight, Belle.”

Exhaustion and warmth were all she could feel, and her eyes slipped closed again. By the time she was able to mumble a parting goodnight, her husband was already gone.


End file.
